Defence Of The Ancients Fanfiction
by Puppetmaster2005
Summary: Based on the popular Defence of the Ancients map popularized by Guinsoo and Icefrog for Warcraft 3 Frozen Throne. Characters are all based on that map's heroes and a few references are taken from Warcraft 3: Frozen Throne.
1. Chapter 1 Strangers in Tharn

Legends of the Ancients

This fanfic is based on the popular Warcraft III Frozen Throne map, Defense of the Ancients (All-Stars), created by guinsoo. All Character rights are reserved for the copyright owner (though unofficial, of course, credit should to be given to the creator for the incredible work in creating the addictive map: dotA).

Note to all: Most of the names of places in this fanfiction are purely fictional and are the sole creation of the writer (me). The occurrences of any similarities found in real life or in other copyrighted material would be purely unintentional, accidental or coincidental. Names of characters and certain references, however, are taken from the DotA All Stars map and from Warcraft 3: Frozen Throne. The DotA character relations with each other are based on the creator's descriptions in the main website: knowledge: Readers might have to learn a bit of the Warcraft 3: Frozen Throne history to fully understand this piece. The story takes off from the end point in Warcraft 3: Frozen Throne and goes on as an alternative sequel to the Warcraft story through the introduction of new characters from the DotA universe. The timeline in which all these events occur is the point just after Arthas returns Frostmourne to the Lich King and is thus consumed by him. The Lich King is now free to roam the worlds in the body of Arthas. The scourge now plans an all out invasion of the continents in which the living dwell. New parties emerge and alliances are formed and all are building towards the great and inevitable battle to defend the Ancients from the threat of enemies.

Note: The events that happen in 'Legends of the Ancients' have nothing to do with the events in World of Warcraft.

Chapter 1 – Strangers in Tharn

The dimly lit streets of Tharn bustled with activity even as the sky darkened into a dazzle of red and yellow and purple, signaling the coming of nightfall. Women could be seen ushering their playful children indoors and the men could be seen returning from their work in the city. As the night cast its overwhelming shadows, the humble city servants who were in charge of keeping the dark of night at bay began their work, each lighting the many oil lamps at the top of long, metal lamp posts that were scattered all over the magnificent city. Within minutes, the hustle and bustle of the evening traffic began to die down as the light of the moon began to emerge from within the dark grey clouds that filled the skies. Voices were hushed and silence grew as the crowd abandoned the city streets for the safety of their homes. Hours pass and nothing happens, save perhaps the putting out of the lights from within each house, and the visits by the men to the local tavern for the evening drink.

All seemed asleep in the city of Tharn at that time of night. Not a soul stirred except those who hung about at the bar, drinking life's worries away. A lone, cloaked figure walked toward the tavern from the direction of Castle Thunderwrath, the main keep that housed the royal family watching over the land. Towering above all the other inferior works of construction, Castle Thunderwrath stood out like a thorn among the rose garden that was Tharn. With its great towers, shadowy keeps and dark walls, the Castle stood like an ominous watchman over the city, portraying the might of the royal family as well as their position as iron-fisted rulers. The man in the cloak simply gazed up at the castle as the moonbeams reflected off its shiny brick surfaces and sighed. Usually, one would never walk the streets of Tharn unaccompanied as the city was notorious for its bandits and shadowy figures at night, but Purist never put much care into his safety, much to the disappointment of his father. In fact, the bandits themselves would've known their place if they recognized that it was the royal prince himself walking alone in the dead of night towards the local tavern. They would know how to fear for their own lives. Another reason why Purist was never attacked was probably the fact that he had a giant sword that hung at his waist, just waiting to be unleashed on any unfortunate adversary that dared to cross his path.

The heavy thumping of Purist's footsteps could be heard throughout the town as the prince made his way steadily to the tavern door. Clad in heavy armor beneath his robes that hardly suited a casual trip to the bar, Purist arrived at the door just in time to be nearly knocked over by a flying drunkard that appeared to have been physically thrown out of the tavern. Fights were common in taverns, especially the rough atmosphere of the Tharn's taverns, but what made this particular incident unique was the fact that the tavern patrons were being unusually quiet about the whole issue. From the door, Purist peered into the tavern and noticed that everyone seemed to be minding their own businesses with traces of shock and panic in their facial expressions. Knowing the rough ways of the common folk men of the city, Purist was puzzled as to what could have possibly frightened these bar-fight veterans into hushed tones and whispered voices filled with traces of dread and anxiety. Making his way closer toward the bar, he found his answer. Sitting ignorantly on a high chair at the bar table was a dwarf and he was stuffing his face with a huge glass of fine Tharn beer. Dwarves were not uncommon in these parts and many frequently visit the tavern during their business or leisure trips to Tharn, but it was generally known that they were troublemakers who carried an air of brutishness and savagery about them. Proud and stubborn, dwarves were not the best of creatures to be messed with if you were a human, but there were still many that defied them and held them in low regard. Those who did, however, usually ended up physically abused by a member of the dwarven race.

The bartender and a few patrons rolled their eyes and some turned heads when they saw Purist enter, but the dwarf hardly budged, almost as if he had not noticed the giant man at all, though it was hard not to as Purist's heavy footsteps made quite a racket in the dead silence that had befallen the bar. With his hood still over his head, Purist hastily made his way to the bar table and tried in vain to avoid the attention. Though the dwarf was totally oblivious to the fact that a man had been thrown out of the tavern, Purist knew from his gut instincts that this dwarf was the very cause of the incident. He sat next to the dwarf and ordered a drink.

"The usual, sire?" asked the barman politely. He knew Purist well and he knew of the prince's inclination to sneak out of his abode in the castle on certain nights when he felt living the royal life became too great a burden or an annoyance.

"Only the best, as you serve it, my dear Barcello, but please, try to refrain from calling me sire in the hours of the night when I prefer to be nothing more than a common man." replied Purist and the barman nodded. The dwarf didn't budge an inch or show any sign of interest. He just kept on with his drink. The barman poured out the desired liquid and served the prince as he would any commoner, by launching it from the other end of the table, letting it slide across the smooth surface of the bar table and expecting the intended patron to catch it. The barman knew Purist wanted to be treated like everyone else. Catching his drink with superior agility and smoothness, the prince proceeded to empty his glass, ignoring the dwarf. Through the corner of his eye, Purist noticed the ancient white beard of the dwarf and the rich, but pale and withered skin texture that made up the dwarf's face, telling him that the dwarf was an elder who had seen more years than his own father. Dwarves were known to live longer than humans anyway.

At that moment, the man who was thrown out appeared at the doorway and was now somewhat rejuvenated and more prepared for another round of settling differences with the person who had challenged him earlier.

"Back for another round, lad? It will be the same as the last time, so I suggest you needn't bother," came the rough, booming voice of the dwarf. Without even turning his head, the dwarf put the glass down to speak, then, as if drinking was the only thing that was important to him, he lifted the glass to his lips once more. The man at the door shouted insults and curses at the dwarf, but to no avail, he was simply ignored. Purist knew why. Dwarves, though proud, arrogant and easily angered, are always calm and contented when their goal has been achieved. In this situation, this dwarf assaulted the man and taught him a rightful lesson in the consequences of insulting a dwarf, and to him, the situation needed no further reinforcement. The dwarf had made his point. As the man went on with his yelling and swearing, he was suddenly violently shoved aside by a dark robed humanoid figure that had appeared at the doorway.

"If you want to make your point, then do it. Words without action lead to nothing," said the hooded figure, whose face was completely masked by the darkness that the hood encompassed. Stunned by the sudden occurrence, the man was speechless and sat there staring at the dark man who was making his way towards the bar table. The man sat at the table and ordered a drink with only a slight movement of his hand to indicate the desired refreshment.

"Admirable logic and practicality," praised the dwarf and for once, he turned his head to nod at the dark hooded man. The only sign that he paid any attention to anything that went on at all. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

"Incompetent is he who knows not his place in the universe…" said the mysterious man slowly and clearly. "And to you, my friend, I might as well say the same. For it is unnecessary violence that sets apart the humans and dwarves from the more superior beings in this universe," replied the stranger coldly to the dwarf without any hint of restraint in his voice that might have helped to avoid worsening the already tense situation.

"Ignorant fool! How dare you place dwarves on equal grounds with humans? By the might of the Lord Zeus, Supreme King of the Mountains, I shall have your head for that insult!" roared the dwarf in an increasingly violent tone. The tavern patrons braced themselves and prepared for the worst. Many of them had seen the fury of the dwarves when their pride was challenged and they all knew how incredibly terrifying they could be. They were ready to duck when flying chairs and tables came at them. The bartender hurried towards the far end of the table and pretended to immerse himself in some work. Purist seemed caught and he didn't know how to react. It was then that he noticed the incredibly large hammer that lay upright against the bar table by the dwarf's right hand and the dwarf was now clutching it till his knuckles seemed to be flaring white. Purist's hand instinctively reached for his sword for he knew that even with all his training and adept fighting skills, it would take all his wits and abilities to take down a fully angered dwarven elder. In fact, it was the hooded figure who seemed to be the only person in the whole room that seemed to not feel the growing tension in the room. Calmly, he sipped his drink.

"Strange… everyone around us seems tense and ready to flee, when in fact, you haven't even risen from your chair. Oh dear me, I seem to have forgotten. Silly me, for if you raise yourself from your chair, you'd be no taller than my own waist… inferior… nothing more than a bearded halfling," said the hooded stranger more coolly than ever.

That was the final straw. Purist didn't even have time to dodge when the huge iron hammer that the dwarf had brought along with him rose from the ground with blinding speed and agility along with a spine-chilling howl from the dwarf – the widely feared dwarven war cry. The hammer sent Purist to the ground and luckily, it had done so by striking his chest plate, bruising him only a little compared to what it could have done if he had been exposed to the direct blow. Though it had indented Purist's chest plate armor, the obstruction did not impede its devastating passage towards its intended target on the other seat. Everyone had expected the hooded figure to either dodge the blow or be crushed by the incredible force of it, but to everyone's surprise, the hooded figure raised a hand and from within the long sleeve of his robe came a sharp moonblade which the robed man held in a reverse position to parry the mighty hammer. Even more surprising was that sparks of lightning could be seen exploding out from the contact point of two weapons when they clashed, but the fireworks display died out as quickly as they had appeared. The hooded man had equaled the dwarf's mighty blow with his giant hammer with a mere short, curved sword that was his moonblade. The dwarf's eyes narrowed and with a stern look, he tried desperately to mask the terror he felt at that moment from becoming a facial expression.

"Magina…"

The dwarf lifted his hammer and dropped it on the ground with a loud thud. He was defeated. Slowly rising from his seat, the dark hooded figure, whom the dwarf knew all too well as Magina the Anti-mage, stared directly at the dwarf. From position that he was in, Purist saw clearly that though the person he came to know as Magina was staring directly at the dwarf, that person was wearing a blindfold over his eyes. The man was blind.

"Zeus is in exile…" said Magina coolly as he very effortlessly broke away from the dwarf's cold and bloodthirsty gaze. He was blind, after all. The dwarf stared without blinking at the person who had beaten him with mixed feelings of rage and fear as the anti-mage walked past him and out of the room through tavern door. The tension ceased as soon as he was out of sight, disappearing into the darkness of the night. The dwarf, who now appeared to be incredibly tired and depressed, slumped into the chair, sighed and ordered another large glass of booze. Purist stood up hastily in a desperate and vain attempt to make himself look not so foolish. He was a proud man too, but he knew all too well that the centre of the night's attraction wasn't him and he had the dwarf to thank for that.

"An impressive display of strength indeed," said Purist, breaking the silence after he had gotten back onto his seat. "A man like you could…"

"Save me your pities, knight. For I am no man… I am a dwarf, and like a dwarf I know when I am defeated. And if you may please leave me alone for the rest of this blasted evening, I may even spare you your bloodily pitiful life," interrupted the dwarf, concluding his statement with a loud gulp of drink from his glass.

"But at least hear me out, mighty one," said Purist quickly while the dwarf was still downing his drink and unable to interrupt him again. "In all my years, I have seen the might of the dwarves, and NEVER have I seen might such as yours in these lands. I pray you will grant me at the very least, the honor of knowing that by which you are called, great one." said Purist hurriedly, but clearly.

"Aye, under any usual circumstances, I would've taken that in as a compliment, but now, however, even the most flowery of tongues will not change my mood or compel me to reveal that which will only be disclosed to the Lord Thunderwrath of Tharn. For that is the main purpose of my travels to this part of the land." replied the dwarf more politely though still containing traces of unsatisfied fury and unwillingness for conversation in his tone.

"Then so be it, great dwarf of the mountains, for I am his lordship's very own son, Purist Thunderwrath." announced Purist in a louder and more confident tone of voice, forgetting his inclination to sound like the common folk to impress the dwarf. His sudden change caused hushed voices to go around and he regretted it almost immediately. The dwarf peered under the man's hood and saw the traces of noble descent in his kingly features and noticed the golden blonde hair that belonged to Purist's father and the father of that father and so it goes along that line. With a questioning and doubtful look on his face, the dwarf glared deep into Purist's deep blue eyes.

"Dural Stormhammer…" said the dwarf as he turned back to down his booze once more.


	2. Chapter 2 Syllabear's Awakening

**Chapter 2 – Syllabear's Awakening**

Eressar, the shining jewel of Kalimdor, stood as a forest of unimaginable beauty and splendor. The lush vegetation and rainbow blossoms thrive and grow in such a way that even the kingdom's greatest gardeners are stumped and puzzled as to how such life could exist without proper care and tending to. Many have come to believe that the forest is alive with the very element of magic. Giving birth to legends and myths among the local townsfolk of Heavenspike, the forest remains as it is, majestic and beyond anything mortal man could ever hope to comprehend. Creatures of all races inhabit this emerald heaven, thriving on the plentiful resources the forest has to offer. Those that live off these resources know very well that they should only take what they need and nothing more… such is the natural way of all living things. However, the human race, being the primary consumer of its nearly endless resources, commonly breaks this rule.

Furion sat on a branch of an ancient tree like a bird would, camouflaged and one with the forest itself. Breathing a heavy sigh of sadness he watched as a few woodland creatures ran about, carrying out their daily routines. Be it the squirrels or the birds or the deer, each lived their lives in very a carefree manner, oblivious to the events that are about to happen to them. Since Archimonde's defeat at the World Tree, peace reigned supreme and it seemed that it would remain that way for a good many years, but Furion knew otherwise. He had had visions of the coming of a new threat… a new being of indescribable evil… an entity with a vision to change the face of the world forever. Furion watched over the great forest from his perch like a proud gardener watching over his garden, but in his heart, he knew that the forest meant much more to him than just that. As a Night Elf of an ancient age long ago, Furion had lived many years and had nurtured the forest since the very beginning when it was nothing more than a single tree sapling. He was like a protective mother, watching over an immortal child, feeling proud of its greatness and caring for it every moment of every day in his life.

The setting sun cast a magnificent display of nature's greatest colors in the sky and as it set, the colors sprayed across the heavens and fell onto the forest trees, piercing its way through the gaps in the leaves and branches and turning the forest into an artist's palette of unimaginable beauty. Furion smiled. Though impending doom seemed inevitable, Furion often sought comfort in the beauty of a single moment in time, when it seems that everything could not be more perfect than it already is.

"God is the greatest artist, and our world is His canvas." said Furion to himself in a self-reassuring way as his gaze became dreamy and he began to relax his tired mind. "Even if evil shall come to harm my forest, God will see to it that that evil is punished…" and as he said that, Furion drifted into a different form of being. He was asleep, but at the same time his mind was awake and one with the forest itself. His muscles relaxed and his body seemed to shimmer and glow in ethereal colors. He was in a state which humans would call a meditative state, but it was far more complex and far beyond mortal man's comprehension and understanding. It is in this very state that Furion, the Prophet of Eressar, encounters his many visions of the future. He remained positioned in an awkward sitting position on the frail branch that appeared too weak to support a creature of his size and weight for hours and hours into the night.

Deep in the forest of Eressar, a branch snapped in the dead of night and a certain night elf fell from his high perch on top of a frail branch that could not support his weight. Furion tumbled towards the ground that was easily three stories (in human building design) high. On the way down, razor sharp branches and thorny vegetation spared no mercy towards their holy guardian simply because none knew what was happening at the time. If they had known that it was their master and protector falling through the trees, they would've swayed to the side and let him fall with grace, but this fall was as big a shock to them as it was to Furion himself. Something had gone terribly wrong during one of his visions.

After a rather frightening thud on the ground, Furion sat up almost immediately, bruised and scratched, but lost in thought. The pain was but a minor irritation compared to the horrors and darkness he had seen in his latest vision. A few small woodland creatures scattered when they sensed their master's fear and anxiety. The trees were tense and the whole forest was almost screaming a silent scream into the dead of night. Furion's feelings and thoughts were always interconnected with the forest, and thus whatever he felt, it felt as well. The usual calm of the forest had died and all its beauty and splendor seemed masked by an invisible cover of darkness. Dark shadows danced around every corner and the night sky seemed almost star-less and foreboding within the endless dark that seemed to shroud the forest, turning everything into something nightmarish and terrifying. A great evil had entered the forest…

Everything was happening sooner than Furion had expected it to and he seemed completely helpless against the new threat that currently stalked in his forest. The darkness seemed to be laughing at him from all around and it seemed to be growing louder and louder. Furion felt his head spin and his mind betrayed him. He felt almost a stranger in the forest which he had known for so many millennia. Every living thing he knew became a stranger to him and he could not recognize his surroundings.

"What is this evil that is defiling my forest?" asked Furion as he tried to find his way around. He was directing the question at the living creatures and trees around him, but like him, they were afraid and unknowing of the evil that had entered their realm. No one answered Furion's question. Furion continued his blind haste of scouring his cherished forest, but everything seemed foreign and even alien to him. It was almost as if he was wading in a dark pool of mud and quicksand from which he could not escape. Furion wanted to scream and unleash a wrath of fury, but he knew that if he did, he might harm the very forest which he loved so dearly. As Furion felt such great anger due to the situation, so does the very forest itself. Everything around him burned with anger and spite such that Furion himself was frightened of his own forest.

Precisely as it was fated to happen, Furion, the Prophet of Eressar, saw it. It was a dark demon, silhouetted by the shadows and the dark of night. Furion could only watch helplessly from a great distance as it blazed through the forest at an unholy pace, breaking branches and smashing plants and small woodland creatures that were unfortunate enough to impede his passage. Its speed and agility was unmatched by anything Furion had ever seen. Two giant wings grew on its back and where its hands should've been, were two gargantuan claws that seemed too big to be normal claws. Furion couldn't make out its features, however, as the creature seemed one with the darkness. It blended in perfectly with the darkness and if Furion's eyes weren't as sharp as they were (if they were human eyes), he wouldn't have seen it at all as the demon was quite far away from where he stood. Nevertheless, the experience remained a terrifying ordeal, almost as if the creature radiated with an aura of fear and doom. Though the sighting seemed to be a lifetime of terror for the old prophet, the demon was gone as soon as he had appeared. Everything had happened so fast that Furion was still unsure as to whether the whole thing was a nightmare or whether it had really happened.

Unknowingly, in his desperate and blind trek through the dense forest, Furion had traveled a great distance from the place of his fall and he was now in a part of the forest that he knew quite well. Slowly, Furion began to regain his senses and everything that seemed dark and alien became familiar and peaceful once more. The darkness lifted and a calming sensation spread across his suddenly aged features. Whatever it was that had caused the dreadful and foreboding darkness had passed and now a light drizzle pierced the treetops, signaling the coming of a great yet cleansing storm. Thankfully, most of the woodland creatures would be safe and protected against the harmful elements of this storm as the forest was a great and impenetratable shield against the worst of Mother Nature's wraths. Furion breathed a sigh of relief, but knew that it was not over. The demon was the very being that he had seen countless of times in his visions and he knew that its evil had only just begun.

Just then, Furion heard a small whimpering sound coming from somewhere in the nearby bushes. A slight downpour ensued and in a matter of moments, the forest was wet and shiny due to the occasional light from the starry night sky. Slowly but surely, Furion made his way to the bushes and encountered a great bear whom he knew very well as Syllabear. It appeared to Furion that it was lost for the same reasons as Furion back when the darkness loomed supreme. It was at that point where Furion noticed he was in the very center of the forest, at the very place where he had planted a young tree sapling millennia ago. Furion looked away from the bear and upwards. He beheld the tallest tree in the whole forest which he called Rooftrellen or 'Great Protector' in the ancient tongue of the Night Elves and smiled to himself.

"So it is fated that we were to meet, young Syllabear," said Furion in a neutral tone with traces of kindness and compassion as he turned to look down at the cold and shivering bear. Furion bent down and removed his cloak that was made out of brightly colored leaves that were imbued with Night Elf magic to ensure that the beautiful colors never faded and that the leaves were living and breathing as they normally would on the trees. He covered the bear with it and patted it gently on the head. Syllabear nuzzled its nose against Furion's face as a gesture of appreciation. Furion looked proudly at the bear. He knew that this bear was unlike all the other bears in the forest, and he also knew that it was his time to see the world through a different perspective. The signs were clear and the visions all point to only one thing. Furion's expression hardened and he looked deep into the bear's eyes.

"It is time that you know who you really are, Syllabear. Thou shall know thy birthright and true purpose in this world. You are not a bear, young one, but an elf… a Night Elf by birth and thus by death as well." said Furion to the bear and it understood as it had a rather shocked expression on its face.

"Your time in the wild is well served and it has made you strong and powerful. Know that your parents sacrificed much to keep you alive and thus, with my help, you were turned into a symbol of bravery and strength at birth to protect and hide you whereas your parents were murdered." said Furion with an incredibly stern look on his face, making sure that the news was delivered to the bear as directly as possible without causing him pain. "It has come to me that fate requires you to regain your true form as a Night Elf of incredible power. You will get to avenge your parents after all. Now, place your paw on mine, young bear." said Furion as he extended his palm towards the bear with a serious look on his face. Syllabear looked up and gazed deep into Furion's blue eyes with a worried expression on his face. It was natural for the bear to be apprehensive, especially since it understood exactly what Furion had said and was afraid, but Syllabear saw something powerful and beyond words within Furion's eyes… a great sense of hope and reassurance within a stern and determined look. Furion had commanded, and Syllabear would obey.

The prophet waited patiently until Syllabear placed its paw on Furion's palm and then proceeded to recite an incantation in an ancient tongue that was completely unknown to Syllabear. Furion knew the words by heart and he knew that it had to be done. At first, nothing happened, but within seconds, Syllabear felt a power greater than anything he had ever felt in his lifetime engulf his very spirit and lift him into the air. His body felt light as the odd sensation began to douse all his other senses. Feeling strangely calm and refreshed, he opened his eyes to the world around him. Color and magic seemed explode all around him and dazzle him with the world's splendor and majesty. The once simple life he had had vanished from existence and his consciousness awakened to revel and appreciate the incredible beauty of the forest around him. The heavy rain pelted onto his head, but for the first time, Syllabear could see the rain as something more than just a wet and cold inconvenience that a forest animal has to endure. He looked up and felt and appreciated each refreshing drop of rain and saw it as the very blessing that it was. Everything seemed to occur at once as his senses sharpened once more and Syllabear was now very afraid. It was like waking from a dream for the first time in his life to the reality that surrounded him. Looking at his own paws, he realized that they were no longer paws at all, but _hands _and tattooed in his right palm was a symbol of a bear's paw print. He also realized that he was standing on his two hind feet and that it seemed natural and untiring.

A gentle pat on the shoulder made Syllabear realize that Furion was still there with him. Syllabear felt afraid and lost, but at the same time, he felt refreshed and full of energy that he felt he could run for miles and not tire at all.

"Rise, Syllabear… to your true birthright as a Night Elf of the wild." said Furion in a grand voice that echoed throughout the forest so that everyone else could hear and know what had happened. Syllabear stood there, looking around as if he was completely unaware of his surroundings even though the forest had been his home since he was a small bear cub. He looked, with a begging look in his eyes, at Furion. Furion nodded and patted the bear's wet-haired head like a fatherly figure would pat his son.

"You have many questions, and are confused to see the world through the eyes of a Night Elf's body… but know this, young Syllabear: You see the world through the eyes of a Night Elf, but you behold its true nature through the heart of a great bear. I do not have the answers you seek, but I will always be here whenever you need me, to guide you through your new life… as Syllabear, the Lone Druid of Eressar. Open your mouth and let forth the might of your voice… Speak my name in thy ancient elvish tongue, for it was what you were taught in the life you had before you were a bear," said Furion in a final and triumphant tone as he proudly placed his hands on Syllabear's broad and powerful shoulders. Syllabear hesitated, but he knew the words and knew how it would sound like in the elvish tongue. He knew there was nothing to be afraid of, but as do all living beings in this world, he was afraid of trying something new. Finally, he stammered, "F…fu…Furion…"

"Yes, my friend… that is my name…" said Furion as a flash of lightning streaked across the sky and an explosive sound of thunder rocked the earth. At that precise moment, Syllabear turned away from Furion and looked towards the sky. He had never experienced thunder as he had just did, in its full and unprecedented glory… a magnificent demonstration of the wrath of God. Turning back to Furion with the intention of sharing this new revelation that he had rarely thought of as a bear, Syllabear realized that Furion had completely vanished. He wasn't surprised as he knew Furion was still watching over him from afar, somewhere in the trees or even in spirit form. Syllabear closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the magical auras of the forest and appreciating them for what they were as a true Night Elf would. Deep in the depths of his heart, however, he knew that he was unlike any other Night Elf that lived. Though he inherited his druidic powers from his parents, through all his years of living amongst bears, he knew exactly how different he was from the normal Night Elves, and he knew that from that moment onward, his destiny had changed forever.


	3. Chapter 3 Of Liches and Ghouls

Chapter 3 – Of Liches and Ghouls

Kel Thuzad stood and stared towards the dark horizon from his perch atop Mount Trinoc. Watching the dazzling display of nature's colors reflecting off the deep blue reflection of the sky by the sea mixing with the dark orange glow from the setting sun, the old Lich reacted with disgust and distaste. Once, in a lifetime that seemed to have been centuries or even millennia past, he had used to love and appreciate these sunsets for their beauty and majesty, but that life was over now, and was as distant as a fading dream. Kel Thuzad, like all the other liches, existed in the plane of unlife. Having lost all their free will and memories of their past to become one and to serve for the better glory of the Undead Scourge, undead like Kel Thuzad never questioned their own loyalties. Over the course of many years, however, the more brilliant minds of the undead have been able to develop many conscious thoughts of their own, but almost all of their everyday actions are governed by the very will of the Scourge. Having said that, an undead with the willpower to go against the scourge would be rare indeed, but it was not improbable. Sylvannas Windrunner, an elf by birth, was killed and risen as an undead banshee, but during the time of the Lich King's loss of power and influence, her elven spirit and will overcame the powerful influence of the scourge and allowed her to betray King Arthas. Arthas was nearly killed in the incident, but he was saved by Kel Thuzad himself. Of course, Sylvannas was rebellious and her hatred towards Arthas surpassed all other forms of influence. Liches like Kel Thuzad, on the other hand, were a group of eternally loyal servants of the undead. Gifted with powerful magic by the undead that spawned them, the Liches were always eternally grateful and saw their rebirth into the unlife as a blessing instead of a curse.

Despite the history of his people, over the past few months since the departure of his King from Lodaeron many months ago, Kel Thuzad had been pondering and thinking of things he had never thought of before. Though he would never show this side of himself to his men for fear that it would be seen as a weakness, Kel Thuzad could already feel himself acquiring traits that only humans would bother to adopt. Reminiscent of his once human past, these strange 'thoughts and feelings' were beginning to emerge once more within Kel Thuzad's hollow soul. He did not know what to think, how to feel, or what to do. He had concluded that perhaps the questioning of his loyalties was largely due to the strange relationship he had with his master and with the Lich King. Kel Thuzad had always been a loyal follower and supporter of Arthas, but he had no love for the Lich King himself, and now that the Lich King had taken over Arthas' body, Kel Thuzad felt his loyalty waver and become incredibly difficult to sustain. In the process, he was also losing most of his powers which he had theorized was due to his lack of faith. Nevertheless, Liches, the highest order of intelligence in the undead army like himself, remained alert and dangerous even after many months of seclusion and peace. Kel Thuzad knew many things about the world and its workings and knew exactly when his master was consumed by the wrath that was the Lich King. He felt an odd sensation back then, familiar, but terrifying. It was the feeling of a newfound freedom mixed with anxiety that a new force was taking root within his own soul in place of his old powers. Kel Thuzad knew at once from the similar patterns of power that it was the Lich King himself who was reaching out to him and with that power, came another familiar scent… the scent of his old master, King Arthas.

A cold aura of frost radiated from the Lich's levitating body, causing the delicate grass to wither and die below him, frozen by his mere presence. Feeling rather tense, the Lich began to hunger. His soul had been longing for some rejuvenation. As a lich of great power capable unimaginable feats, he needed nourishment like any other living being, but his nourishment was in the form of souls... Mana was everything for a being like a lich as it kept him alive as well as ready if the need to battle were to arise.

"Bring me my nourishment..." commanded the lich in a cold and completely hollow voice. A tall spectre in red robes wearing a horned helm appeared behind him and nodded. His yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness of dusk as he turned towards the darkness and sped off to fulfill his master's wishes. He would bring his master another worthless soul worth stealing. The lich seemed distracted, however, and paid no attention to the necromancer who would've obeyed his orders or had his soul taken from him by force. Kel Thuzad moved, with unholy stealth and grace, towards an ancient tree that stood nearby and felt with his hand for the forest spirits that lived within these ancient woods. He was too hungry to wait for his incompetent necromanver to return with a soul worth consuming. As soon as he discovered a few living remnants of life that had remained since his arrival, he smiled a hollow smile that was hardly noticeable on his flesh-less face. Slowly, he pierced the wooden bark with his black claws and drained the very essence of life from the tree. As he did so, the tree began to lose its natural color and the fading spread from the point of the puncture. The lich sapped and fed off the vital energies of life and converted them into a substance known only as mana. The tree's rich brown bark and lush green leaves faded into nothing more than a sickening grey with dark spots where the tree spirits had been. Slightly rejuvenated, the lich stepped backward and raised his arms in a ritualistic appreciation of the powers that had been given to him by the Lich King, though at the present moment, he felt absolutely no love for his greater master.

The necromancer returned a while later with three absolutely grotesque and horrid creatures that have made up the lower undead ranks ever since the first invasion of the scourge's plague upon mortal lands. They were ghouls… horribly twisted and fiendish creatures that have remained a constant reminder to all that not all beings were worthy of being blessed with the honor of being a lich. During their past lives, these monstrosities had already corrupted and doomed their own souls through the regular practice of sin. To such outcasts, being risen as a ghoul was a blessing in disguise compared to what awaited their souls in the deepest and most fiery pits of hell. However, a ghoul's existence was almost as miserable. They were skeletal creatures covered with rotting bits of flesh that remained from their previous bodies. The older ghouls had no flesh at all and resembled skeletons that were of higher ranking in the scourge's ranks. What set these pathetic creatures apart from the skeletal brethren was the fact that they walked on all fours and the structure of their skeletal bodies were horribly disfigured and almost unbearable to look at. Kel Thuzad observed the ghouls individually almost uninterested until he detected a strange aura being emitted by the last one. With his interest aroused, Kel Thuzad took no notice of everything else and simply stared at the ghoul that stood apart from the rest.

As he looked upon the ghoul and tried to picture in his mind the worthless scum that this ghoul had been during his life that might have set him apart from the rest, Kel Thuzad realized something. Though it was practically unheard of before, Kel Thuzad was incredibly sure of it and could feel the ghoul's different spiritual energies flowing through the air around him, filling the area with distaste and dread. The ghoul was an embodiment of incredible lust and greed, a mindless being with a hunger that matched and even surpassed Kel Thuzad's already impressive appetite. The only difference is that this particular ghoul hungered for the raw flesh and blood of the living whereas liches like Kel Thuzad were satisfied with just the magical energies of the living. Kel Thuzad also noticed that this ghoul was bigger and had more flesh covering its wretched bones. The flesh was also meatier and smelt of fresh blood almost as if the ghoul had just feasted.

"What is this being that you present to me?" questioned the lich in a boomingly powerful voice that seemed to echo in your head, filling your mind with dread and fear of his wrath. "He is not one of our kindred…"

"My apologies, master," replied the necromancer in a calm and emotionless voice. "This one we found feasting greedily on one of our necromancers whom we suspect might have been careless with this ghoul. We chained him as fast as we could and seeing his enthusiasm and vigorous spirit, we deduced that he would be a rightful meal to quell the hunger that my master faces," completed the necromancer as he bowed long and low.

"Interesting… confirm with me, necromancer, for the area of life and death is your specialty. Is this being what I suspect it to be?" asked the lich in a calmer and more inquisitive tone.

"Yes, my master… this one is not bound by the will of the Lich King… he has risen on his own." Kel Thuzad stared at the ghoul in chains who was staring blankly into the distance (though it did appear to be staring at Kel Thuzad's feet) while reaching out with one of his hands to grip one of the other ghouls by the neck. The necromancer reacted by reflex and undid the magical chains that bound the ghoul as it struggled against Kel Thuzad's firm and powerful grip. The great lich opened his wide mouth and through unknown means, bit unto the head of the ghoul and ate his soul. The other regular ghoul reacted in horror and struggled relentlessly against the chains that bound him, but it was futile. A mere ghoul did not have the power to break the magic wielded by a necromancer. The other ghoul simply stared and it appeared to Kel Thuzad that it was drooling, but he took no notice of it now that he was hungry and continued to feed. The necromancer stood at attention, waiting patiently for his master to finish the 'treat' that he had brought for him. Confident in the powers of his magic and pleased that he had aroused his master's interest by bringing him a rather unique ghoul, the necromancer relaxed himself a little. None of them could've ever anticipated what happened next.

The ghoul, in a ferocious and incredibly daring maneuver, leapt at Kel Thuzad, driven by incredible hunger and greed. Overwhelmed by surprise and shock, Kel Thuzad was pounced upon by a frenzied ghoul that broke the necromancer's magical chains with hardly any effort. The ghoul's incredible agility and strength shocked Kel Thuzad so greatly that he was unable to react to the ghoul's sudden offensive. It ripped the half-dead ghoul from the lich's strong grip and tore at it with giant fangs and fiendishly sharp claws. Even to these hardened and undead war veterans, the sight was terrifying. Reacting as quickly as he could, the necromancer sought to protect his master and started firing magical bolts of energy at the creature… the biggest mistake he would ever make in his undead life. Kel Thuzad regained his balance, got to his feet as fast as he could and muttered the first offensive magical spell he could think of as the devilish beast brutally ripped apart the flesh and bones and robes that made up his second-in-command necromancer. Kel Thuzad summoned a devastating bolt of pure ice and materialized it at the exact place where the hungry ghoul stood, already feasting and slashing at the other ghoul that seemed almost half its size. The frost bolt exploded into a dazzling crystal display of icy explosions that knocked the life-stealing ghoul off his feet and onto a tree. Icy shards hung from the ragged flesh clothing that it wore and one could see that it was in pain. Thuzad conjured up another spell as fast as he possibly could without draining too much of his already low mana reserves. This time however, he was more focused and his spell would be more potent and destructive. He would get rid of this beast once and for all. Something, however, was not right. The demonic ghoul scattered around and regained his balance almost immediately after its fall and Kel Thuzad saw a strange glow in his adversary's eyes that symbolized something more than just lust and greed… it was the fiery glow of pure rage and fury.

"DIE, DEMON!" yelled Kel Thuzad as he released the icy blast in the ghoul's direction. Searing through the air and freezing the ground and air around it, the frost nova spell would freeze the creature in its tracks and drain all forms of energy from its intended target, completely destroying it. Victory burned in Kel Thuzad's eyes for a split second until the bolt collided with the creature and made the lich realize how truly mistaken he had been. He was no match for the demon ghoul. It had grown into a being almost twice its normal size and it resembled a great demon of the netherworld rather than an ordinary and lowly ghoul. The icy bolt had bounced off its now hardened exterior and hardly seemed to scratch this new form of the ghoul. Kel Thuzad could only stare in horror as the merciless being lunged at him. The Lich would've died on the spot if there hadn't been a sudden flash of incredibly bright light and immediate the rain of lightning bolts that followed. This time, it was the ghoul that was taken by surprised as electrical surges seared its bony exterior and tore at him like a razor-sharp knife would tear at living flesh. Lightning flashed through the air and sky and struck a few nearby trees, frying a few and lighting a small fire in the dark wood. The ghoul let out an unholy cry of pain and rushed off towards the woods with a cat-like grace and agility. Leaping amongst the hedges and trees, it vanished into the darkness in search of more prey to feed upon as Kel Thuzad began to realize what had just happened. Once he discovered his savior, his face twisted into a skeletal expression of disgust and clear unhappiness.

"I see you would've rather been eaten alive by that monstrous ghoul than to be saved by me, lich…" said the armor clad revenant that walked in from the trees. Wearing a helm that shrouded his true face in pure mystery, the only thing that could be seen from within the darkness of his helm's eyeholes was the gleaming blue pair of eyes that glowed from within. Kel Thuzad scoffed unappreciatively though he knew that Razor, the lightning revenant, had just saved his life.

"I was about to finish it off…" lied the lich and he knew that razor knew it was a lie as well. He just needed to assure himself that his current existence would've still been possible without the revenant's help, though he highly doubted it himself. "I want him found…" said the lich, trying to divert the topic towards something that seemed more important, though nothing seemed more important that proving his rival in rank completely wrong in every possible thing. Razor simply smiled a cruel and triumphant smile from within his dark helm and though he couldn't see it, Kel Thuzad knew what it was… a mockery of his talents.

"Very well… and we shall see exactly WHO finds him first…" challenged Razor. Kel Thuzad did not reply or even look his way. Instead, he walked off towards the undead encampment to recruit the hunting party.


	4. Chapter 4 The Council of the Three Kings

Chapter 4 - The Council of the Three Kings

Purist awoke with a stiff back and an aching head. He cursed himself for being foolish enough to challenge a dwarf to a friendly drinking competition as he raised his sore body from the luxurious bed that he had slept upon. Purist wiped at his eyes and wondered how he had got to his room in the first place. As far as he remembered, the dwarf, the tavern and the drink were everything he had known before the overwhelming darkness of blackout. Light poured in from the strategically positioned windows on the walls, beaming onto Purist's face without mercy and Purist swore again. The room was designed in such a way that it was impossible for one to sleep past the intended hour in the morning. The amount of light was blinding and it caused Purist's face to distort in such a way so that as little light as possible entered his eyes. It was futile, however, as his private royal tutor had designed and crafted the room using mirrors, wide and uncompromising windows, and had even ensured that the room was placed nicely at the highest point in the eastern tower, facing the sun.

Finally surrendering to the ingenious room design that he had had to endure since his childhood in the royal palace and under the tutelage of Lord Crestfall, Purist got up from his royal place of slumber and dressed himself in the usual manner in which he had been taught. Royal children had no need for schools or any form of mass education as their blue blood parents usually preferred to assign them to more trusted educators such as Lord Crestfall. Purist was brought up not by his parents, but by the wise man that happened to be the Lord Thunderwrath's main advisor as well as the best sorcerer in Tharn itself – Lord Gemini Crestfall. Though Purist hated the old man's guts and constant intrusions into his life, he had a lot to be thankful for as the old man had taught him more than all the people in Tharn could've ever hoped to learn. Wise beyond his years, Lord Crestfall was a hard and merciless man to anyone whom he would impart his knowledge to. Purist never doubted the old man's knowledge, but he never forgave the old man's brutal teaching methods either. Though he knew he would've hated the spoilt and aristocratic life he would've led under any other royal tutor, Purist's life at the beck and call of the imperial sorcerer was a complete opposite of just that. One could safely label slave labor tame compared to the harsh teaching methods of the Lord Crestfall.

As the nostalgic moments of cleaning out his tutor's chambers over and over again as physical training came into mind, Purist pushed open the door, knowing all too well that his tutor would be waiting outside, ready to attack him with a barrage of lectures resulting from his recent trip to the outside world and getting drunk in the process.

"Save me the lecture, Lord Crestfall, I know what is it you have to say," said Purist as he walked past the elderly man without even looking at him. He said this with such smoothness of timing that the old tutor had hardly enough time to utter a single word. Replying with only a smile, the sorcerer walked alongside his greatest pupil with pride, but with a hint of disappointment.

"Pray forgive me for the lecture, but you picked the wrong night to go head to head with a dwarven elder in a drinking competition. Your father has summoned you to the grand hall to attend a grand council of respected rulers of different races. He expects that you be in your best form." said Gemini as he patted Purist's shoulder in a fatherly way. His tone was unusually calm and seemed to be hiding something.

"Being of royal blood, the manner in which you presented yourself last night highly disappointed me, and you know I hate to be disappointed." continued the sorcerer as his fist clenched tighter around the staff he carried along with him. Purist knew through many painful experiences, that the staff was used for a lot more than just to aid an elderly man in his walking. He ducked as fast as he could.

"SEE WHAT I MEAN, BOY?!" yelled the old man after his staff had come crashing down onto Purist's aching head, creating a horrid cracking sound that echoed throughout the stone corridors. "Drinking does nothing to aid your reflexes. A drunken heir to the Thunderwrath family makes an easy target for assassins or even bounty hunters seeking ransom. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" screamed Gemini as he aimed another blow to Purist's knees, sending him to the floor in pain. "I had to drag your bloody 'carcass' all the way back to the castle in the wee hours of the morning. God knows what could have happened to you when I was not around. Lucky for you, I decided to check upon you and inform you of the royal council on the very eve of the day itself. Fool!" continued the old sorcerer as he aimed another kick at Purist's chest. Finally satisfied that Purist had had enough, he grabbed Purist by the collar of his royal robes and brought him to his feet.

"Drink this," said Gemini once again as he handed Purist a bottle of clear blue liquid. "Sapphire water… it'll get you up and going in minutes. It's expensive stuff and I sometimes wonder to myself why I make these sacrifices for the sake of one rebellious pupil. Why, I'd rather teach an old dog new tricks rather than educate an infidel such as yourself." Purist accepted the flask without a word and drank deep as the royal advisor to the Thunderwrath family adjusted his clothes like a mother adjusting her son's clothes on his first day of school. Purist hated it whenever his tutor treated him as such, but he wasn't in a position to argue. Reluctantly, he let Gemini usher him through the labyrinth-like corridors and passageways towards the grand hall of the castle.

"My daughter will be at the council," said Gemini as they walked a brisk walk. The old man's eyes scanned Purist for the effect he was looking for when he said this. Purist remained silent and kept a neutral stance, trying to figure out whether this was a trick or a fact. Finally, after a long period of silence, Purist replied, "She has nothing to do with me, so why are you telling me this?"

"I may be old, but I am no fool, Purist… I know how you feel about her and by the Gods, try not to make a fool of yourself in front of her," said the old man, smiling rather cheekily. "It is a rather important meeting…"

"Why won't you be there as the king's advisor?" asked Purist as they neared the doors to the great hall. "If this meeting is as important as you say it is, why am I the one who is present and you are not?"

"You forget, my lord, that I am getting old, and every man of important stature at my age ought to train an heir. Rylai is a lot wiser and capable than you portray her to be, my lord. Do not underestimate her."

They soon arrived at the grand entrance to the hall. A knight stood at attention at each side of the door, each carrying a long pole arm and the place was well lit by bright torches. On the stone walls were giant banners bearing the image of the Thunderwrath family crest - a single tree with a lightning bolt striking it down the middle. Even the great door itself was furnished with gold plated shields and weapons. Purist yawned and pushed the doors open, ignoring the guards who moved to try to open them for him… a habit he picked up from his tutor. Lord Crestfall simply smiled and walked away, melting into the darkness of the stone corridors.

Inside, the great hall was a splendour to behold. The ceiling extended to almost as high as the castle towers and was supported by great arches. Sunlight streamed in from the long and giant windows that were carved into the walls at either side and one could even see your own reflection in the neatly polished marble floor. At the far end of the hall was the grand throne, furnished by gold and jewelry and plated in gold. A smaller throne lay at its side, dusty and empty for years. Purist's mother had died at childbirth. In the middle of the hallway was a large, square stone table at which most members of the council were already seated. Lord Avarius Thunderwrath sat at the far end of the table, with his back facing his throne and on his right side sat the lady, Rylai Crestfall. There was an empty seat to the great lord's left, which Purist took to be his and made his way towards it. The hall was dead quiet and Purist's footsteps could be heard echoing around the hall as he made his way to the designated seat. As he walked towards the seat, he observed the other four people who were in the hall. On his father's right sat two elves. Purist knew them to be elves because of their pointed ears and delicately fair skin. One was a male with dazzling golden hair and rich blue eyes, but the thing that was most noticeable was the fact that he had huge and rather oversized eyebrows. He also wore a red mask that revealed only his eyes, nose and mouth. His eyebrows extended from within the mask and hung at the sides of his face. He wore a deep red cloak that looked as if he was ready for battle. The other was a female with beautiful brown hair and she wore a gleaming crown of gold on her head. The area around her eyes were pink with magical coloring, indicating that she was a sorceress of great power. To the lord Avarius' left sat two dwarves, one of which Purist knew by name… Dural Stormhammer. The other was a white bearded dwarf. His features were concealed beneath the blue hood of his cloak and unlike most dwarves who carried axes or hammers for defense, this particular dwarf had a large rifle by his side.

Purist was surprised that the castle's security had allowed the presence of weapons in the hall. He assumed that the guards could not strip any of them of their weapons as all were proud and arrogant creatures. Neither dwarf nor elf trusted humans. As Purist arrived at his seat, Lord Avarius Thunderwrath rose from his and made the announcement for the commencement of the council. As he glanced from one face to another, Purist realized that he was in the presence of great and powerful representatives of the three most powerful races in the land. He was studying each of them with utmost curiosity until he caught a glimpse of the elven woman's sharp look and turned away as quickly as he could. There was something menacing about the way she carried herself. Purist could sense a lot of tension from the dwarves as well. Dural's eyes were racing across the room, almost as if scanning for hidden traps or other similar human devices. He knew however, that the humans would never be able to invent a trap or weapon that could ever surpass dwarven masonry and fool his trained eyes, but he wouldn't take chances anyway. The other dwarf seemed less observant of his surroundings, but kept a tight grip over the weapon at his side. From his stance, Purist could tell that if his lord dwarf, Dural ever needed a bullet in the head of any person in that hall for any reason at all, this dwarf wouldn't fail to disappoint him. Last, but not least, came the elven warrior that sat silently beside the imposing elven woman. His aura was a vastly different one if compared to the others. Purist found it hard to read the elf's thoughts and feelings as he did not give off any signs to betray them at all. He was calm and strangely silent. Though it was obvious that no one save perhaps the Lord Thunderwrath was speaking, Purist felt as though the elf was _more_ silent than the rest. His lips were pursed and his eyes semi-closed as he listened intently to every word that was said by the lord of the castle.

All the while, Purist had been ignoring his father's boring opening speech. He hated these formalities anyway as they were rather pointless. Purist only began to take notice of his father when the old man paused rather suddenly. Purist looked up at his father and saw a proud man, but also a foolish one, and at that point, Purist knew that the peace in the hall was about to come to an abrupt end.

"…I shall refrain from continuing," began the king once again in a vastly different tone of voice. "…as one's tolerance can only go so far as to not offend the greatness and pride of such humble races such as yours, but having a woman representing a High King at an important council such as this is just far too intolerable." His father's words took Purist by shock and the hall fell silent as many gazes were exchanged between the members of the council. "Lady Inverse, what have you to say?" demanded the human king as he stared at her with a proud, but (in Purist's opinion) foolish look on his stern face. Lina Inverse, daughter of the High King of the elves rose and said nothing. She met Avarius' look with her own menacing glare and Purist was now beginning to grow amazed that his father stood strong and had yet to back down receiving such an intimidating look that in Purist's own opinion, would have sent him to his knees.

"I heard that a large amount of gold is involved in whatever it is we are to discuss, and thus, I willingly volunteered to represent my father in this council. My father is blind when it comes to worldly possessions and gold," replied Lina coolly after a long and uneasy silence.

"And to think us dwarves were looked down upon and labeled for putting too much importance on worldly possessions," exclaimed Dural in his usual gruff and deep voice after a loud laugh that made everyone in the hall feel extremely uneasy. "Here is an elf who is not afraid to speak her mind, and for that, I acknowledge you, young one."

"A dwarf values gold more than he values his own life. He would hoard such a treasure in a dark and forsaken place deep in the ground, using it as merely a trophy put on display, letting such a fortune go to waste." At this point, Dural's eyes narrowed and he met Lina's gaze with a warning glare. Lina however, took no notice of this threat and continued, "Us elves, however, use that gold in our sacred elixirs that enhance our arcane magics, allowing us to extend consciousness and even life itself." Smiling a provoking smile at the dwarf, Lina continued, "This fact can be seen quite clearly, as it is obvious as to which is the more beautiful race."

The two dwarves were on their feet in a fraction of a second. Dural's eyes flared with rage and his fist clenched around his warhammer's hilt, ready to wield the weapon. His dwarven companion had reacted as well and had raised the long rifle to shoulder length so fast that Purist hardly knew what was happening when it finally occurred to him that the dwarf had aimed his gun at the elven princess. The gunman's sharp gaze had a lock on the elven princess and everyone immediately realized that if Dural had wanted the elven princess dead, she would have been. Strangely enough, even with the imposing threat at hand, both the elves reacted calmly and rose from their seats. Purist was also surprised by the lack of reaction coming from the other elf. If one's queen was in danger, wouldn't one react to protect her at all costs? While Purist thought it over, he couldn't help but feel that the other elf appeared to be in complete control of the situation. Rylai raised her staff in the air as she too rose to her feet and shouted across the council table.

"Put down your weapons, or I shall be forced to…" but her sentence was cut off by a sudden burst of fire that seemed to explode from Lina's bare hands. The fireball took on the form of a flaming dragon, ready to consume its prey. Everything happened to quickly that all Purist saw was a dazzling blur of bright colors as the spells clashed and exploded at the centre of the table. All he knew was that Rylai had summoned a thick wall of ice between the fighting parties to impede the paths of the destructive spells and bullets that were flying at each other from both sides and that the resulting combination of spells had created such a thunderous noise that guards burst into the room a split second later with their weapons drawn. As the chaos reigned, Purist felt a sudden strange, yet sharp form of magic pierce his body, leaving him weak and helpless. The strange magic, however, did not appear to be of any elemental magic nor of any offensive spell. Looking around, he realized that he was not alone. A deathly silence had fallen upon the room, leaving everyone in a dazed state of confusion. Everyone the hall realized that they had lost the ability to speak or even to make the slightest of sounds without feeling a sharp pain in their bodies. The dwarves made an effort to curse the elven magic under their breath, but realized that they were unable to do so. As the silence continued, everyone turned to look at the elf who was responsible for the powerful spell. The elven warrior stood expressionless in the midst of the silence and made a gesture indicating for those around him to be seated. Seeing the pointlessness of argument at this point and coupled with the fact that they were unable to speak anyway, everyone including the elven princess complied to the elf's wishes.

"Behold the power of the Last Word and the pain of the Curse of the Silent," said the elf, finally breaking the uneasy silence. "Those who dare speak when it is not one's turn to speak shall feel my wrath of silence. Let that be a warning to all," finished the elf as he snapped his fingers to remove the power of the Last Word.

"You are a fool, Nortrom! Why did you stop me from wasting these dwarven scum? My father would be most displeased with your actions here today. You have dishonored our race!" said Lina quickly once she found that she was able to speak again. Nortrom the Silencer simply looked at her with cold and empty eyes and spoke in a calm and neutral voice.

"I am not bound by the will of any save myself. Not even the High King of the elves shall hold me to his word, for I am a Silencer of Quel-Thalas. Your father respects my wishes, and it would be wise if you were to do the same, young princess," said Nortrom in a rising voice that commanded obedience and to a certain extent, respect. Lina reacted coldly, but it was clear from the expression on her face that she feared the elf greatly. Purist looked onward, admiring the elf's daring and commanding disposition and at the same time fearing his powers.

"We shall continue with the council, and unless I am mistaken, we are here to discuss the elf, human and dwarf alliance against the ever threatening wrath of the undead scourge that lingers just beyond our lands," continued the elf again. "Lord Avarius Thunderwrath, I pray that we would be able to continue our council without any further interruptions. If it is a must that you be satisfied, then let it be that I am the one who will represent the High King at this council, and not the Lady Inverse."

"Very well…" replied Purist's father in a shaky voice that lacked all form of confidence. The dwarves grunted and Nortrom took his seat. Purist smiled to himself. He knew that the most interesting part of the council had just ended.


	5. Chapter 5 Master of Beasts

Chapter 5 - The Last Mok'Nathal

A howling desert wind picks up the sands and dances them through the air, wielding them as Mother Nature's swords and knives against any traveler unfortunate enough to tread into these parts of the treacherous Great Desert of Kalimdor. Tumbling weeds roll from cactus to cactus as the smallest of desert creatures scuttle back into the safety of their homes in the cracks between desert rocks and some even beneath the sands itself. The haunting howl of the wind and the crisp sound of the sand slamming against the desert rocks is the only sound that can be heard in this vast, dry land. In this deserted and forsaken landscape, only the strongest and toughest survive. All others are doomed to die a terrible death and become carrion for demonic vultures and opportunist harpies to feed on when a sandstorm hits.

Having leapt into the nearest fissure in the rocky mountain trail he was passing through, Rexxar had shielded himself from the desert's unforgiving wrath in the nick of time for as soon as he had done so, a wave of sand swooped across the path just above him. Sand poured into the crevice, raining down upon Rexxar, but it hardly bothered him. He knew all too well that if he had not detected the signs like he did earlier, his very skin would have been ripped off by the devilish winds. With that knowledge in mind, tame rain of sand upon his head seemed hardly noticeable compared to the lethal dust storm that raged through the land above him. Silently uttering a prayer to Mok'Goth, the god of the Mok'Nathal, Rexxar prayed for the safe return of his pet hawk, Stormwing. He had ordered the creature to fly away at the first signs of the deadly sandstorm. The Mok'Nathal, a race of creatures that are half-orc and half-ogre, shared a very close connection with the beasts of the wild. They are also nomads and prefer to live their lives in solitude instead of living in tribes or in any organized groups even if those groups consisted of other Mok'Nathal. As a result of their peculiar nature that is unique to their race, they usually find close companionship with the beasts of the wilderness that they live in close contact with. Sadly, the Mok'Nathal are widely hated and discriminated against by both orc and ogre alike. The orc clans of Kalimdor have been at war with the ogre clans for countless generations and as such, the Mok'Nathal remain as outcasts, doomed to roam the lands as rejects, not belonging to any group save their own.

Rexxar felt a scorpion climbing up his arm and stiffened his muscles. It was a black scorpion, a small but lethal inhabitant of the desert. Being very knowledgeable in the ways of the desert, Rexxar knew at once that if he made any sudden move to panic the creature, a single sting would be enough to paralyze him for days, and probably even kill him. More and more sand poured into the crevice, showering Rexxar and the scorpion, and making the scorpion flinch a little. The wise Mok'Nathal reacted calmly even though he was running the risk of either being buried alive in the sand or being stung by a desert demon and being buried _dead_ in the sand. Slowly but surely, Rexxar raised the arm that the scorpion was clinging onto and let more sand fall upon the venomous arachnid. He prayed that the sand would knock it off. His hands worked quickly as soon as the sand threw the scorpion off balance and he grabbed the little creature by its tail, barely missing its stinger. With the strength of an ogre and the wisdom of an orc, Rexxar crushed the fiendish creature's tail, ending its life and saving his own. By this time, the sand had already filled the crevice as high up as Rexxar's shin and Rexxar had begun to notice another scorpion on the surface of the wall of the crevice, and another one burrowing into the sand nearer to his feet.

Overlooking the desert from a high cliff, Chen surveyed the damage done by Mother Nature's wrath. The devastatingly powerful sandstorm had raged for almost three hours, sliced through the desert, killing any living being unfortunate enough to not find shelter from its razor sharp winds. Cactuses were torn apart or blown over, small rocks were hurled through the air, and small desert creatures were swept away and torn to shreds in the vortexes of the violent twisters of the storm. Chen released a deep sigh and walked out further towards a cliff ledge. Living as a hermit in a cave high above the desert in a secluded rocky mountain range, the orc far seer had easily found shelter from the lethal storm by retreating into the deep cave that for many years, he had come to call home. Far away in the distance and to the left from where he was standing was the ogre encampment where a grand assembly of ogre clans had gathered in preparation for a great feast. With his keen eye for detail, Chen reacted in horror after realizing what the barbaric ritual that they were about to carry out was all about.

"Durotar, to arms, my dear friend!," said Chen, turning to face the cave as he spoke. Slowly, but gracefully, a great white wolf emerged from the cave in response to his call. It was of an ancient breed, gargantuan and elegant. It was as tall as Chen when it stood on its four legs and almost as long as two well-bred Lordaeron horses put together. It walked over to its master and acknowledged him by adoringly rubbing its nose against the orc's face. Chen smiled as he patted the noble beast on the head. "The world needs us once more, Durotar," said Chen to the great beast. "Hextar has shown us the path... He has shown me the visions in my dreams, no doubt you have seen them too, have you not, my dear friend?" said Chen and the wolf nodded in response. The master smiled at his intelligent steed and saddled it as it bent over. Durotar was a legend among beasts and by far one of the most intelligent non-language-speaking creatures that walked the world. Some orcish acquaintances of the holy knight have even claimed that the beast was actually a holy priest in its previous life, but Chen knew otherwise.

Chen had nursed and cared for Durotar ever since its birth many years ago when Chen was but a mere orc cub living in a small orcish village to the south of a great orc city. Chen had named his pet wolf Durotar, after the name of that great city of which his father had always spoke of in his bedtime stories. Sighing to himself, Chen remembered a time when he was like all the other orc children, blind and barbaric, until that fateful day when both he and his pet wolf were blessed by the god, Hextar as far seers. Far seers like Chen were orcs that were gifted with the power to have prophetic visions of the future and with the ability to wield strange magics at their will, but Chen believed that the great god, Hextar had blessed them both with a power that set them aside from the other orc far seers. As a result, Chen grew apart from his normal orc brethren due to differences in ideologies. After the death of both his parents, Chen left the village to live a life of meditative solitude in the deep desert, occasionally returning to the village to preach and to receive some humble living necessities such as food and water. He has lived there ever since.

"Every living being has the right to live, no matter how different they are from us, as all living beings have souls. Hextar, the God of War and Light has shown me that." said Chen to his steed once more and the great wolf howled in approval. No matter how great the danger was, Chen knew that he had to do something. "It is time…" said Chen as Durotar skillfully leapt off the cliff, landing and jumping off very vertically inclined rocks. The majestic wolf adeptly ricocheted from rock to rock while making sure its master was constantly in a safe and comfortable position on its back until it finally landed on solid ground. With another great howl, Durotar sped off at a blazing speed towards the ogre encampment with Chen clinging strongly to the fur on its neck.

Searching the skies for a sign of Stormwing, Rexxar the beastmaster made his way through the sand covered path that he had abandoned earlier for the safety of a rock crevice in the ground which turned out to be a black scorpion hive during the merciless sandstorm. The crevice was now hardly visible due to the large amounts of sand that had filled it up to the brim. Rexxar thanked Mok'Goth for his safe escape and hoped that his faithful hawk friend had survived as well. The beastmaster was lucky that the sandstorm had ended when it did, for the sands had nearly buried him alive along with a hive of black scorpions that unlike him, were able to breathe under the sands. Thankfully, Rexxar was able to concentrate on breathing and ritualistic meditation to calm himself as well as blend in with his surroundings. Mok'Nathal such as he were taught the skill at an early age to be one with nature, even if nature itself was the one that presented the life threatening situation. As a result, the scorpions that were burrowing in the sands around him had barely noticed him, and had instead thought that Rexxar was another part of the rock crevice itself, sparing the beastmaster from a potentially agonizingly painful and miserable death from the venom of hundreds of black scorpions.

As his keen eyes wandered from cloud to cloud, and as he was appreciating the clear blue skies that had revealed itself once more after the storm, Rexxar caught a glimpse of his trusted companion flying in between two clouds. Sighing in relief, the beastmaster quickened his pace and made his way closer to the hawk on foot along the path. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, when he realized that Stormwing was flying in a very ominous pattern in the sky… the great hawk was flying in a large circle – a sign that indicated danger. Rexxar knew all too well the dangers of meeting a barbaric orc or a brutal ogre alone and as such, he ducked behind a rock formation as quickly as he could and took a more mountainous trail that seemed to be leading toward Stormwing's immediate location. Moving as stealthily as he could, Rexxar effortlessly worked his way through an awfully steep path of sharp and dangerous rocks. Having been conditioned to survive in the harsh wasteland, there was no obstacle in the whole desert that could present Rexxar with a worthy challenge. Besides, after the encounter with the black scorpions, the climb seemed tame in comparison. Nevertheless, Stormwing was trained to fly in that pattern to signal only the deadliest of life threatening situations and Rexxar would not take any chances, a habit of his that had kept him alive all this while. As he climbed, he spotted a cave entrance just a little above him. Highly suspicious of it, Rexxar removed an axe from his backpack and slowly made his way to the mouth of the cave. When he reached it, however, he found it empty with no signs, other than the skeletal remains of an orc that had clearly been deceased for many years, that any living creature had been there recently. He also found that the cave path led downwards through the mountain. Seeing as the other two sides of the mountain were too treacherous even for a skilled pathfinder such as him to get around, Rexxar figured that the cave had a purpose of its own.

Removing a torch from his backpack, Rexxar used a few rocks to strike up a spark, lit it, and used to it light his way as he descended into the dark abyss. At the end of the long and downwardly sloped cave path, Rexxar found himself faced with a dead end and an opening in the cave floor coupled with a crude set of stone steps that spiraled downwards into the deep dark of the mountain. Rexxar moved his torch to light the opening and found that the steps descended alongside the walls of an ancient vertical tunnel that led deep into the mountain. Knowing that there was no turning back now, Rexxar made his way down the spiraling steps, carefully studying the architecture of the ancient structure with the bright illumination of his torch. He soon realized how ancient the staircase was through his careful examination of how worn the steps were and slowed his descent. The stairs were carved by his very ancient descendants – ancient ogres that had lived in Kalimdor since the very beginning of time. Rexxar searched his memory for the stories that had been told to him by the Mok'Nathal elders during his younger days as a mere cub. For the Mok'Nathal, a daily campfire story was the way of passing down the history of the ages to the younger generation. Though mixed with exaggerations of folklore to impress the young ones, many of the stories held ancient truths about the world and its workings.

Rexxar remembered a story about the age old ogres during the very first days of the world. They were said to be a race of highly intelligent creatures that built great civilizations of stone deep within cavernous mountains and dwelled there for millennia until the coming of the orcs. Rexxar recalled the stories of ancient battles between the two races as well as the exile of the ogres from their home in the mountains. There were many missing fragments of the story due to inconsistent accounts of the story between different elders, which Rexxar concluded could have resulted from the different viewpoints held by the different races that he had descended from – the orcs and the ogres. They were sworn enemies after all. Somewhere along the lines of history, however, the ogres had somehow lost their intellectual capabilities and were bested by the orcs and driven into the desert where they lived as outcasts while the orcs dwelled richly in the great caves. However, their stay in the caverns was not long as the stories told of the coming of an even greater evil that drove the orcs out of the great caves. Some tales told of demons rising from the deep pits of hell and claiming the caves for themselves with savage force, while others told of the spirits of ancient ogres that rose from the dead and possessed the minds of the orcs, driving them to the point of madness that they simply left the caves.

Mindful of the stories, Rexxar was on full alert with a torch in one hand and a hunting axe in the other. Though Rexxar never believed the stories about demons rising from the depths or of madness-instilling spirits, he would never take any chances. Deeper and deeper he descended until Rexxar could have sworn that he was descending into the very heart of the ancient ogre caverns themselves, and he wasn't far from the truth either. The air around him began to become stale and cold, and soon, Rexxar realized that he had descended much farther than he had ascended the mountain from the rocky mountain path, indicating that he was already _under_ the mountain. A feeling of dread from the realization gripped him and regret of the descent was beginning to fill his senses. Just as he was about to turn back to ascend the steps, the spiral steps finally came to an end and Rexxar was faced with a giant opening in the rocky wall that led to a short tunnel that ended just short of the fiery torch's illumination. Rexxar's sense of adventure overcame his fear as he made his way through the tunnel and brought his torch to illuminate the next room that lay after the tunnel. What he saw next astounded him so much that he stood frozen for a few seconds and took a deep breath, allowing himself to fill his lungs with fresh cold air as he beheld the grand cavern that he had just stepped into. He was standing on a small platform that ended just a few feet ahead of him. To his left was a set of stairs that seemed as though they had been carved from the wall itself that led deeper down into the cavern. Rexxar walked to the edge of the rocky outcrop of a platform, raised his torch and looked down. The cavern floor lay many storeys below him and was covered in sand. The cavern roof was many storeys above him as well. Finally coming to terms with the sheer size of the grand cavern, Rexxar took to the steps and made his way down to the cavern floor. As soon as his bare feet touched the ground, Rexxar realized that the sand that covered the cavern floor was of the finest quality and it cushioned his feet, relieving it of the strain from his climb on the sharp rocks of the mountain and descending jagged and worn out stone steps.

"Strange…" said Rexxar to himself. Knowing that there was no wind deep underground, he wondered how the sand could have ever reached this level of fineness. The cave was dead quiet with the exception of the soft thumping sound of Rexxar's giant feet on the smooth, grain-like sand. As Rexxar proceeded forward, he caught a few glimpses of several small scorpions that scuttled behind rocky pillars of rocky stalagmites as soon as he approached them. Recognizing them as the less lethal brown scorpions, and sensing that these scorpions had been living in darkness for so long, that the very light of the torch drove them mad with fear, Rexxar saw no danger from them. Rexxar also saw many of the little creatures burrowing into the fine sand as soon as the light of the torch fell on them and he deduced that the sand's fineness could be the result of the centuries of constant burrowing by these scorpions. There were other small creatures as well such as giant black beetles, but none were as numerous as the scorpions. In the cavern, Rexxar beheld grand balconies and hollows where the ancient orcs and ogres must have lived carved into the huge walls of the cavern. A countless number of steps leading up to those magnificent outcroppings could be seen. Deep underground in that dark cavern, Rexxar had lost all sense of time in the ancient oldness of the place. The tranquil atmosphere and the sheer majesty of the ancient cave captivated Rexxar so much that he forgot what he was after in the first place – his pet hawk.

Time passed by slowly for Rexxar as he made his way through the historical site, reliving the stories of great battles and ancient evils. Intrigue and wonder erased all sense of fear in Rexxar as his mind wandered back in time to when he was a small Mok'Nathal cub sitting by the campfire, letting his imagination run wild from the stories the elders would tell. Though everything in the cave was as still as the night and as silent as the stars, Rexxar could see the fire and wooden weapons of war, hear the thumping of war drums and the crushing sound of bones breaking under wooden clubs and stone hammers, and behold great warriors of immense size, battling for a cause that they believed in along the walls and within the carved out hollows in the walls. Everything seemed so real to Rexxar that he even started to run through the cavern like a little cub, imagining he was a part of the great war between the orcs and the ogres, but he stopped when he realized he was neither orc nor ogre but a mixture of both. Rexxar sighed happily knowing that the stories he had heard were true and he was actually beholding the actual caves of the ancient ogres.

Many hours had passed before Rexxar eventually reached the end of the long cavern. It was only then that Rexxar realized he had completely lost his sense of direction due to the spiral descent down the staircase earlier. The cavern ended with a series of passage openings along the walls. These openings were not unique to the end of the cavern either as Rexxar had noticed them all along the cavern's walls throughout the whole cavern. In an instant, Rexxar's bravery faded and his childish imaginations vanished as he came face to face with the reality his current situation presented. Realizing that it would take forever to find another way out of the cave, Rexxar decided that he would backtrack and ascend the spiral staircase all the way back to the top. Taking just a moment to appreciate the historical significance of the place around him, Rexxar gathered himself and headed back towards the spiral staircase.

At that moment, Rexxar felt the ground tremble slightly and he heard thousands of little scuttling sounds all around him. He inferred that the sounds originated from the scorpions, but he could have sworn that he had heard a more distant sound of scuttling coming from directly ahead of him – the scuttling sound of a much bigger creature. The beastmaster felt strange and uncomfortable as he sensed a monstrous entity and he gripped his axe and torch tighter, knowing that he would need them both in the case of an encounter with an ancient demon or spirit. The trembling grew stronger and a distant rumbling echoed through the cave, indicating that something big was drawing nearer. Rexxar felt a sinister presence engulf him, striking even his brave heart with a powerful and unavoidable sense of fear. He began to remember the part of the stories that spoke of great and ancient demons driving out the orcs and prepared himself for battle, knowing all too well that if the stories were true, he was doomed. Rexxar raised his torch to enable him to see further into the darkness, but to no avail. He could not see the invisible presence, but he was beginning to sense that it was evil. Looking at the flame of his torch in a desperate and childish attempt to find a form of reassurance, Rexxar was surprised to find that the flame was flickering oddly and the smoke of the flame was drifting toward one of the passage openings. A sudden feeling of hope enveloped Rexxar as he rushed into the passage and made his way through it as fast as he could. He was relieved to find that the passageway he had chosen sloped upwards, indicating a possible escape route to the outside world. As he ran, he felt the trembling in the ground grow weaker and weaker and the rumbling sounds fainter and fainter. An expression of relief could be seen on his hard features, but he did not slow his pace. It was a long and hard journey upward.

The cave twisted and turned, making Rexxar's lose his sense of direction even more, but Rexxar did not really mind because there were no other side passageways that branched out from this particular passageway, eliminating the hassle of any decision making. He did, however, doubt his own judgment of choosing the passage based on an odd flicker of his torch's flame. He knew very well that he was at a depth where it would be highly unlikely for a torch's flame to catch a draft from the surface world and that whatever it was that had caused the rumbling could have caused the strange flicker as well. Nevertheless, Rexxar kept his hopes up and continued along the steep and twisting passageway.


End file.
